Love's Cold Burn

by Harry, Jessica

  ‘Well. Yes. I suppose I am, but yesterday was worse. When I first came round, I felt about 90 years old. Today I only feel about 70.’

  ‘Sounds about right.’ George nodded. ‘You’re looking well.’ George then smiled for no obvious reason. His own words had reminded him of a story. He pushed his glasses further up his nose.

  Brian and Tom knew that meant he was about to tell one of his stories.

  ‘That’s how you greet old people.’

  ‘How’s that George?’ asked Tom.

  ‘My … you’re looking well.’

  Tom and Brian looked at each other confused, then looked back at George for an explanation.

  ‘You see boys. There are three stages in life.’ He looked at them both in turn before continuing. ‘You are young, middle aged or “my … you’re looking well”.’

  Tom smiled as he caught on. ‘You’ve never looked better George.’

  Brian would have twigged as well if he hadn’t fallen asleep again.

  An hour later he was woken by a nurse. She had his lunch. Tom and George had gone. As soon as he finished his food, he laboured to the toilet. He climbed back in bed feeling good. Visits to the toilet, much to his relief, had been easy. As he settled down to a spot of light reading, courtesy of George’s brown paper bag, he heard a camp voice talking to the ward nurse. He knew that voice. Rupert had come to visit.

  The music post graduate student from room number one minced his way along the ward to Brian’s bedside. ‘How are you today Brian? I’ve brought you a Mars bar to build up your strength.’

  ‘Thanks Rupert. Have a seat.’ Brian gestured to the bedside chair. Rupert sat down and looked around the room. The family decorator opposite was enjoying a book on gardening. The healthy looking thin-faced man was still reading his book. The elderly man in the next bed, who seemed dead the day before, had still not moved, but an unhappy looking lady sat quietly by his bed. Brian’s immediate neighbour, the snorer, was awake now and making a lot less noise. He was sat up in bed staring at the man with the gardening book.

  ‘Can I see the scar?’ Rupert asked.

  ‘The bandages haven’t come off yet,’ Brian lied. ‘How are your studies going?’

  Brian had chosen the right question. Rupert spoke for almost 15 minutes without stopping for breath. He explained his latest composition, the drawbacks of multi-track recording and the limitations of the primitive equipment at Southside University. Brian could feel his eyes closing but bravely kept them open and nodded agreement in all the right places.

  Rupert finished his rant about composing and looked around the ward again. The snoring man was now staring at the thin-faced man.

  ‘Well Brian. Society is a hospital of incurables.’ Rupert said profoundly. Brian looked at him confused. ‘Ralph Waldo Emerson,’ Rupert added by way of explanation. Brian’s confused expression was unchanged. ‘American poet,’ Rupert added in a slightly higher voice, which indicated it was his final attempt at explaining himself.

  Brian smiled acknowledgement, half understanding. That was enough for Rupert. He stood up, wished Brian a speedy recovery and glided out of the ward, sunlight from the window catching the folds of his Arabian tunic.

  Brian closed his eyes. The visit had tired him, but seconds later, a tall bald, wide-eyed young man with a tattoo of a lizard above his ear and a pair of red glasses perched on his nose, made himself at home in the bedside chair.

  ‘Brian, you old tart. How’s your twig?’ Hugh Grundy’s loud voice didn’t just wake Brian. The dead man even stirred briefly.

  Brian’s startled eyes opened. ‘Hugh. Didn’t expect to see you. How are you?’

  ‘I’m good. Back early to prepare for second year finals.’ Hugh was on the edge of his chair. Brian could see he wanted to tell him something. He guessed correctly. During his Easter break, Hugh had finally come up with a successful scheme for making money.

  Hugh didn’t wait to be asked and launched straight into it. ‘I’m in the money Brian. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.’

  Brian had endured 15 minutes of music jargon from Rupert and now got 15 minutes from Hugh on how he was paid to deliver free newspapers, but kept them for a couple of weeks before selling them to his uncle who ran a fish and chip shop.

  ‘Got the idea off my old ma. She’s always complaining about the papers coming through the door. “Half stuffed in the letterbox. Lets all the cold air in,” she said. So I said, “At least it’s a free newspaper.” And she said, “No Hugh. It’s full of crap. All adverts. I wish they’d do us all a favour and keep their junk.” So I’m getting paid for delivering them and getting paid again by my uncle at the chippy.’ Hugh waited for Brian’s praise.

  ‘Good job Hugh.’ Brian couldn’t help thinking their must be a catch. ‘What if people complain they’re not getting a paper?’

  ‘Would you complain if the flu was going round and you didn’t get it?’ Hugh had thought of that one.

  ‘Aah, but what if somebody working for the paper doesn’t get it delivered?’ Brian asked.

  ‘My boss would say number 22 hasn’t had their paper and I would keep one back each week for number 22.’ Hugh smiled with pride.

  ‘So are you going to try it in Southside?’ Brian played along.

  ‘If I can find a friendly chippy.’ Hugh then leaned over to Brian and whispered. ‘But could you do me a favour?’

  ‘Go on,’ Brian nodded.

  ‘Don’t tell Colin. He’ll want to do it with me and he mucks everything up.’

  ‘Sure. No problem,’ agreed Brian.

  Hugh sat back up and returned to speaking very loudly. ‘You get some freaks in here don’t you?’

  ‘Where are you looking?’ said Brian, glimpsing at the staring man, the healthy man, the dead man and the family decorator.

  Hugh saw him looking around. ‘No. Not this room. Just as I was walking down the corridor, looking for the right ward, I saw a man in a white dress.’ Hugh pulled a face to show his disapproval.

  Brian had a fairly good idea who Hugh had seen and thought it a little strange that a bald young man with a tattoo above one ear should think a man with an Arabian tunic was any more strange than himself. ‘Did this man have short blond hair?’ Brian asked.

  ‘That’s right. And he walked like a girl.’

  Brian smiled. ‘That man had just been to visit me.’

  ‘What?’ Hugh squealed. ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘He lives in Dickens Court, block F.’

  ‘Which floor? I’ve never seen him.’

  ‘Our floor.’

  Hugh’s mind was working hard. Ten seconds later he put two and two together and shouted, ‘No?’

  Brian nodded.

  ‘Room number one?’

  Brian nodded again.

  Chapter 31

  Did you miss me?

  Twelve days later, April 25, 1984: It was six weeks since Vicky Owen had seen Tom Hill; the boy she loved, but, sadly for her, the boy that didn’t feel the same way about her. He had been in her thoughts every day during the long Easter break, and, as the days passed, she ticked them off her calendar. She hoped that he had missed her at least half as much as she had missed him. During the holiday, she hadn’t looked at another boy. The fact that there were other suitable boys did not cross her mind. Tom was the only boy for her and the wait was over. She unlocked the door of her room in Dickens Court, block B, and dumped her stuff on the bed.

  She unzipped her big suitcase and pulled out the bag of groceries her mother had carefully packed for her. She hurried to the kitchen and placed the fresh food in the fridge. She had intended to unpack her clothes before the creases became fixed. She didn’t want to have to iron everything again, but she couldn’t wait. She left her luggage on the bed, locked the door and set off at a fast pace towards Tom’s room.

  She knocked gently on his door and stood on her tiptoes with her eyes shut and pouting lips ready for a kiss when he opened the door and saw her.
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  ‘Come in,’ shouted Tom.

  She opened the door. Tom was sat at his desk reading.

  ‘Hi Tom,’ she said shyly and very quietly. She walked over to his chair hoping for a kiss and a cuddle.

  ‘How’s it going Vicky? You look good.’ Tom stood. ‘Have my seat. Want a cup of tea?’

  Vicky didn’t want a cup of tea. She wanted a kiss. ‘Yes please. That would be lovely.’ She sat down. Tom went to the kitchen and returned five minutes later with the drinks and a packet of biscuits.

  Vicky stood up and hugged Tom. She pecked him on the cheek. His response was more formal than affectionate. She was starting to sense that things were not as they should be. Tom was cold towards her. She sat on the bed and patted the space beside her to encourage Tom to join her. Instead, he passed her tea and sat in the soft chair at the end of the bed.

  Her fringe still followed the line of her eyebrows, but her hair was shorter. Tom didn’t notice, or if he did, he chose not to comment. She had a new jumper in a floral pattern, slightly more daring than usual. Again Tom chose not to comment. Vicky hoped Tom’s mind was on Brian’s recovery from his operation. It certainly wasn’t on her. All the euphoria she had felt in the last few days as the new term drew close, had withered away in a matter of minutes. Something was wrong and Vicky feared the worse.

  She felt a sense of great loss. Empty space filled her mind where once there had been love, optimism and joy. For six weeks she had thought of nothing but Tom. The good memories had dominated. The disappointments had been forgotten. She had built him up in her mind to something far greater than he was or ever could be. She felt let down and vacant. She loved him deeply but he looked as if he would rather be playing football.

  Tom could feel the tension. In the six weeks he had been apart from Vicky, the good times had been forgotten. He had dwelled on the problems and disappointments. His opinion of Vicky and their relationship had spiralled steadily downwards. He thought when he saw her again, the magic would return, but when she opened his door he felt revulsion. He couldn’t handle the responsibility for her feelings. It was too much for a boy of 18 with a spirit of romantic adventure. He no longer liked the idea of a steady girlfriend. Or maybe he no longer liked the idea of Vicky as his steady girlfriend. He wasn’t sure which, but, either way, as soon as she walked through the door, he knew it was over.

  While Vicky sat on the bed sipping her tea, Tom stared out of his window across campus. There was a middle-aged man in a suit sat on the bench at the far side of the lawn looking up at him. As Tom turned to Vicky, he thought he recognised the man and took another look, but he had gone.

  The silence told its own story. Vicky’s empty feeling grew stronger with every silent moment that slipped by, and she was first to break the quiet, more through embarrassment than a genuine belief that she could put things right.

  Her voice was soft and trembling as she looked at Tom through watery eyes. ‘Did you miss me?’ In more joyful circumstances, the irony of her question would have been funny.

  Tom looked her in the eye and was bluntly honest. ‘No.’

  The silence returned. Vicky dare not even blink. The simplest movement may signal her acceptance of his rejection. The tears started to flow faster. She felt desperate. Tom was so cold. She didn’t deserve this. Was it so bad to have denied him sex? Or was there another girl? She edged towards him and sat on the arm of the chair with her arms around his shoulders. She didn’t want to lose him and pleaded. ‘But Tom, I love you. I’ve missed you so much. I need you.’ She pressed her cheek against his shoulder but nothing came back. Tom’s hands remained at his sides.

  ‘I’m sorry Vicky, but that’s just it. You need me. I don’t want to be needed by anybody. It’s too much responsibility and I don’t love you. I was very fond of you. Very. But … but it’s over.’

  She was sobbing now and gripped him tightly around the shoulders not wanting to let go.

  Tom thought back to his argument with his brother. He had accused Brian of always putting Brian first. ‘What’s best for Brian? That’s how you approach everything,’ he had said to him.

  Brian had replied, ‘And what about Vicky? You’ll probably tell her all about Sarah when she gets back and it will break her heart. And why tell her? I’ll tell you why … to ease your own guilt. Not to put her mind at ease, just for your own benefit; the warm glow of confession for Mr Superior Tom Hill. At least I’m honest with myself, even if that makes me selfish. You hide behind a mask of good intentions.’

  His mask of good intentions had slipped and he felt enormous guilt. He could have tried harder with Vicky, but he had taken the easy way out and ended things. He looked at himself through Vicky’s eyes and he didn’t like what he saw.

  She still clung on sobbing. Tom wanted to comfort her, but it would give her false hope. He needed a clean break. Yes it was selfish but it’s what he wanted. And why shouldn’t he have what he wanted sometimes? He couldn’t always put others first.

  She cried on his shoulder for a good five minutes in silence, still sobbing, before renewing her appeal. ‘I love you Tom. I can’t live without you. You’re all I think about every day. Can’t we give it another try? I’ll change. I’ll try and see things your way. Let’s give it another go.’ She knew she was starting to show her desperation but she didn’t care. Without Tom, she had no use for dignity and pride.

  She continued to plead while Tom repeated how sorry he was. She fell silent again, still crying on his shoulder. She needed answers. ‘What did I do wrong?’ she blubbered. ‘Tell me and I’ll put it right.’

  Tom resisted the temptation to say ‘It’s not you, it’s me’, opting instead for, ‘You haven’t done anything wrong Vicky. It’s just not going to work. We want different things.’

  Tom was thinking on his feet. He hadn’t thought this through because he didn’t know how he was going to feel until she walked through his door, so he dwelled on his own words almost as much as Vicky did. He asked himself if the lack of sex had been a factor and concluded that it definitely had not. It was the intensity of the relationship that had been too much. The triviality of sex with Sarah had been fun. He didn’t want to replace Vicky with Sarah, but the night of passion with Sarah had helped him realise that a steady relationship with Vicky was not what he wanted.

  After another painful silence, Vicky asked the question she didn’t want to hear the answer to, but she had to know. ‘You’ve met someone else haven’t you?’ She spoke as calmly as her crying allowed.

  Tom looked back out of the window. He thought about Sarah. It had been fun, but Sarah had only helped him understand his own feelings. She had not changed his feelings. Again he thought back to Brian’s words. It would hurt Vicky more to tell her about Sarah. She didn’t need to know. ‘I meet someone else every day, but no, I haven’t replaced you. I just don’t want a girlfriend now. I don’t want you Vicky. It’s over.’

  There was another knock at the door. Vicky and Tom looked at each other. ‘Come in,’ shouted Tom.

  Andrew pushed the door open and walked in with a big smile, which turned to a frown as soon as he saw Vicky crying. ‘Oh sorry. Shall I come back later.’

  ‘No Andrew,’ Vicky replied as she stood up. ‘I have to unpack. See you both later.’ With that she left.

  ‘Why was she crying?’ asked Andrew.

  ‘We just split up.’

  ‘Oh. That’s a shame. What went wrong?’ Andrew asked with genuine concern.

  ‘I’m not totally sure myself, so why don’t I make you a cup of tea and you can tell me all about your holiday.’ Tom couldn’t face going over it all again with Andrew, not yet anyway. He disappeared for five minutes and returned with two more cups of tea.

  Andrew had taken the seat by the desk, leaving Tom the soft chair at the end of the bed. He was feeling good and couldn’t wait to share his news with Tom. He had struggled through some difficult exchanges with his father and stood up for himself.

  Tom handed Andrew hi
s tea and settled back down in the soft chair. ‘So did Frank give you a hard time?’

  ‘Sort of. It was like you had never said anything to him at first and he treated me the same as normal, but things changed after I challenged him one night.’

  Tom had noticed Andrew’s echo had gone. Tom had been expecting Andrew to say, ‘Things changed after I challenged him one night … they did.’ But there was no ‘they did’. It seemed strange, but nice. Tom was genuinely pleased to see that Andrew had made some progress. His confidence was starting to grow. He would have said something about the echo, but thought it best not to draw attention to the green shoots of progress for fear of squashing them. ‘Go on. What happened?’ Tom asked.

  ‘He arrived home from work and handed his coat to my mum. He sat in front of the telly and said, “I think I’ll have a whisky.” Instead of going and getting him one I said “excellent idea”, then carried on reading my book.’

  ‘Nice one. Good so far,’ Tom nodded for Andrew to continue.

  ‘After a couple of minutes, he said, “Jump to it boy.” And I replied, “Jump to what?” So he said, “The whisky won’t pour itself will it?” I said, “I thought you were getting it.” And he said, “No I’m not. You are. I asked you.” So I said, “No you didn’t. You’re exact words were, ‘I think I’ll have a whisky.’ And he replied, “Well then. You know what that means don’t you?” And that’s when it got a bit heated.

  ‘Excellent. What did you say?’ Tom was delighted that Andrew had finally stood up to his father.

  ‘I said, “I know exactly what it means. It means you have no manners and you treat me like shit. Just like Tom told you when you came to dinner at Southside. You sit down in front of the telly, expecting mum to hang your coat up and me to run around pouring you drinks when you haven’t even got the manners to ask me nicely. I’m your son, not your butler.” At first he just stared at me but you won’t believe what he said next.’

  ‘Knowing your father, I think I will,’ said Tom.

  ‘He said, “I know what’s going on here. I had a friend at work in a very similar situation. He was a young man in his first job and had moved away from home. He was under a lot of stress and it affected his mind. Couldn’t think straight. Started being rude to people when things got on top of him, lashing out and not showing his senior colleagues the respect they were due. Had to go home, signed off with stress by his doctor. Going to Southside University has been a big step for you. Angry young rebels like Tom putting dangerous ideas in your head. You’ve probably got a mental disorder. I’ll get your mum to take you to the doctor tomorrow.” Unbelievable. He’s the rudest man in Britain and when I question him, I have a mental illness.’